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AYALA’S ANGEL
be chiefly conspicuous for heavy gilding; and Tom, moreover,
had a waistcoat which would of itself have been suicidal. Such
as he was, however, he was shown up into the drawing-room,
where he found Ayala alone. It was certainly a misfortune to
him that no preliminary conversation was possible. Ayala had
been instructed to be there with the express object of listening to an offer of marriage. The work had to be done,—and
should be done; but it would not admit of other ordinary
courtesies. She was very angry with him, and she looked her
anger. Why should she be subjected to this terrible annoyance? He had sense enough to perceive that there was no
place for preliminary courtesy, and therefore rushed away at
once to the matter in hand. “Ayala!” he exclaimed, coming and
standing before her as she sat upon the sofa.
“Tom!” she said, looking boldly up into his face.
“Ayala, I love you better than anything else in the world.”
“But what’s the good of it?”
“Of course it was different when I told you so before.
I meant to stick to it, and I was determined that the governor should give way. But you couldn’t know that. Mother and
the girls were all against us.”
“They weren’t against me,” said Ayala.
“They were against our being married, and so they
squeezed you out as it were. That is why you have been sent to
this place. But they understand me now, and know what I am
about. They have all given their consent, and the governor
has promised to be liberal. When he says a thing he’ll do it.
There will be lots of money.”
“I don’t care a bit about money,” said Ayala, fiercely.
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ANTHONY TROLLOPE
“No more do I,—except only that it is comfortable.
It wouldn’t do to marry without money,—would it?”
“It would do very well if anybody cared for anybody.” The
angel of light generally appeared “in formâ pauperis,” though
there was always about him a tinge of bright azure which was
hardly compatible with the draggle-tailed hue of everyday
poverty.
“But an income is a good thing, and the governor will come
down like a brick.”
“The governor has nothing to do with it. I told you before
that it is all nonsense. If you will only go away and say nothing
about it I shall always think you very good-natured.”
“But I won’t go away,” said Tom speaking out boldly,
“I mean to stick to it. Ayala, I don’t believe you understand
that I am thoroughly in earnest.”
“Why shouldn’t I be in earnest, too?”
“But I love you, Ayala. I have set my heart upon it. You
don’t know how well I love you. I have quite made up my mind
about it.”
“And I have made up my mind.”
“But Ayala—” Now the tenor of his face changed, and
something of the look of a despairing lover took the place of
that offensive triumph which had at first sat upon his brow.
“I don’t suppose you care for any other fellow yet.”
There was the angel of light. But even though she might
be most anxious to explain to him that his suit was altogether
impracticable she could say nothing to him about the angel.
Though she was sure that the angel would come, she was not
certain that she would ever give herself altogether even to
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AYALA’S ANGEL
the angel. The celestial castle which was ever being built in
her imagination was as yet very much complicated. But had it
been ever so clear it would have been quite impossible to explain anything of this to her cousin Tom. “That has nothing to
do with it,” she said.
“If you knew how I love you!” This came from him with
a sob, and as he sobbed he went down before her on his knees.
“Don’t be a fool, Tom,—pray don’t. If you won’t get up
I shall go away. I must go away. I have heard all that there is to
hear. I told them that there is no use in your coming.”
“Ayala!” with this there were veritable sobs.
“Then why don’t you give it up and let us be good friends.”
“I can’t give it up. I won’t give it up. When a fellow means
it as I do he never gives it up. Nothing on earth shall make me
give it up. Ayala, you’ve got to do it, and so I tell you.”
“Nobody can make me,” said Ayala, nodding her head, but
somewhat tamed by the unexpected passion of the young man.
“Then you won’t say one kind word to me?”
“I can’t say anything kinder.”
“Very well. Then I shall go away and come again constantly
till you do. I mean to have you. When you come to know how
very much I love you I do think you will give way at last.” With
that he picked himself up from the ground and hurried out of
the house without saying another word.
CHAPTER XII
“WOULD YOU?”
The scene described in the last chapter took place in
March. For three days afterwards there was quiescence in
Kingsbury Crescent. Then there came a letter from Tom to
Ayala, very pressing, full of love and resolution, offering to
wait any time,—even a month,—if she wished it, but still persisting in his declared intention of marrying her sooner or later;—not by any means a bad letter had there not been about
it a little touch of bombast which made it odious to Ayala’s
sensitive appreciation. To this. Ayala wrote a reply in the following words:
When I tell you that I won’t, you oughtn’t to go on. It isn’t
manly.
$ඒൺඅൺ.
Pray do not write again for I shall never answer another.
Of this she said nothing to Mrs. Dosett, though the arrival of Tom’s letter must have been known to that lady.
And she posted her own epistle without a word as to what
she was doing.
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AYALA’S ANGEL
She wrote again and again to Lucy imploring her sister to
come to her, urging that as circumstances now were she could
not show herself at the house in Queen’s Gate. To these Lucy
always replied; but she did not reply by coming, and hardly
made it intelligible why she did not come. Aunt Emmeline
hoped, she said, that Ayala would very soon be able to be at
Queen’s Gate. Then there was a difficulty about the carriage.
No one would walk across with her except Tom; and walking by herself was forbidden. Aunt Emmeline did not like cabs.
Then there came a third or fourth letter, in which Lucy was
more explanatory, but yet not sufficiently so. During the Easter recess, which would take place in the middle of April, Augusta and Mr. Traffick would be married. The happy couple
were to be blessed with a divided honeymoon. The interval
between Easter and Whitsuntide would require Mr. Traffick’s
presence in the House, and the bride with her bridegroom
were to return to Queen’s Gate. Then they would depart again
for the second holidays, and when they were so gone Aunt Emmeline hoped that Ayala would come to them for a visit. “They
quite understand,” said Lucy, “that it will not do to have you
and Augusta together.”
This was not at all what Ayala wanted. “It won’t at all do to
have me and him together,” said Ayala to herself, alluding of
course to Tom Tringle. But why did not Lucy come over to her?
Lucy, who knew so well that her sister did not want to see any
one of the Tringles, who must have been sure that any visit to Queen’s Gate must have been impossible, ought to have
come to her. To whom else could she say a word in her trouble? It was thus that Ayala argued with herself, declaring to
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ANTHONY TROLLOPE
herself that she must soon die in her misery,—unless indeed
that angel of light might come to her assistance very quickly.
But Lucy had troubles of her own in reference to the family at Queen’s Gate, which did, in fact, make it almost impossible to visit her sister for some weeks. Sir Thomas had given
an unwilling but a frank consent to his son’s marriage,—and
then expected simply to be told that it would take place at such
and such a time, when money would be required. Lady Tringle had given her consent,—but not quite frankly. She still
would fain have forbidden the banns, had any power of forbidding remained in her hands. Augusta was still hot against
the marriage, and still resolute to prevent it. That proposed
journey upstairs after the scrap-book at Glenbogie, that real
journey up to the top of St. Peter’s, still rankled in her heart.
That Tom should make Ayala a future baronet’s wife; that Tom
should endow Ayala with the greatest share of the Tringle
wealth; that Ayala should become powerful in Queen’s Gate,
and dominant probably at Merle Park and Glenbogie,—was
wormwood to her. She was conscious that Ayala was pretty and
witty, though she could affect to despise the wit and the prettiness. By instigating her mother, and by inducing Mr. Traffick to interfere when Mr. Traffick should be a member of
the family, she thought that she might prevail. With her mother she did in part prevail. Her future husband was at present
too much engaged with Supply and Demand to be able to give
his thoughts to Tom’s affairs. But there would soon be a time
when he naturally would be compelled to divide his thoughts.
Then there was Gertrude. Gertrude’s own affairs had not as yet
been smiled upon, and the want of smiles she attributed very
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AYALA’S ANGEL
much to Augusta. Why should Augusta have her way and not
she, Gertrude, nor her brother Tom? She therefore leagued
herself with Tom, and declared herself quite prepared to receive Ayala into the house. In this way the family was very
much divided.
When Lucy first made her petition for the carriage, expressing her desire to see Ayala, both her uncle and her aunt
were in the room. Objection was made,—some frivolous objection,—by Lady Tringle, who did not in truth care to maintain
much connection between Queen’s Gate and the Crescent.
Then Sir Thomas, in his burly authoritative way, had said that
Ayala had better come to them. That same evening he had
settled or intended to settle it with his wife. Let Ayala come
as soon as the Trafficks,—as they then would be,—should
have gone. To this Lady Tringle had assented, knowing more
than her husband as to Ayala’s feelings, and thinking that in
this way a breach might be made between them. Ayala had
been a great trouble to her, and she was beginning to be almost sick of the Dormer connection altogether. It was thus
that Lucy was hindered from seeing her sister for six weeks
after that first formal declaration of his love made by Tom to
Ayala. Tom had still persevered and had forced his way more
than once into Ayala’s presence, but Ayala’s answers had been
always the same. “It’s a great shame, and you have no right to
treat me in this, way.”
Then came the Traffick marriage with great éclat. There
were no less than four Traffick bridesmaids, all of them no
doubt noble, but none of them very young, and Gertrude and
Lucy were bridesmaids,—and two of Augusta’s friends. Aya-
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ANTHONY TROLLOPE
la, of course, was not of the party. Tom was gorgeous in his
apparel, not in the least depressed by his numerous repulses,
quite confident of ultimate success, and proud of his position
as a lover with so beautiful a girl. He talked of his affairs to all
his friends, and seemed to think that even on this weddingday his part was as conspicuous as that of his sister, because of
his affair with his beautiful cousin. “Augusta doesn’t hit it off
with her,” he said to one of his friends, who asked why Ayala was not at the wedding,—”Augusta is the biggest fool out,
you know. She’s proud of her husband because he’s the son of
a lord. I wouldn’t change Ayala for the daughter of any duchess in Europe;”—thus showing that he regarded Ayala as being
almost his own already. Lord Boardotrade was there, making
a semi-jocose speech, quite in the approved way for a cognate paterfamilias. Perhaps there was something of a thorn in
this to Sir Thomas, as it had become apparent at last that Mr.
Traffick himself did not purpose to add anything from his own
resources to the income on which he intended to live with
his wife. Lord Boardotrade had been obliged to do so much
for his eldest son that there appeared to be nothing left for
the member for Port Glasgow. Sir Thomas was prepared with
his £120,000, and did not perhaps mind this very much. But
a man, when he pays his money, likes to have some return
for it, and he did not quite like the tone with which the old
nobleman, not possessed of very old standing in the peerage,
seemed to imply that he, like a noble old Providence, had enveloped the whole Tringle family in the mantle of his noble
blood. He combined the jocose and the paternal in the manner appropriate to such occasions; but there did run through
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AYALA’S ANGEL
Sir Thomas’s mind as he heard him an idea that £120,000 was
a sufficient sum to pay, and that it might be necessary to make
Mr. Traffick understand that out of the income thenceforth
coming he must provide a house for himself and his wife. It had
been already arranged that he was to return to Queen’s Gate
with his wife for the period between Easter and Whitsuntide.
It had lately,—quite lately,—been hinted to Sir Thomas that
the married pair would run up again after the second holidays. Mr. Septimus Traffick had once spoken of Glenbogie as
almost all his own, and Augusta had, in her father’s hearing,
said a word intended to be very affectionate about “dear Merle
Park.” Sir Thomas was a father all over, with all a father’s feelings; but even a father does not like to be done. Mr. Traffick,
no doubt, was a member of Parliament and son of a peer;—but
there might be a question whether even Mr. Traffick had not
been purchased at quite his full value.
Nevertheless the marriage was pronounced to have been
a success. Immediately after it,—early, indeed, on the following morning,—Sir Thomas inquired when Ayala was coming to Queen’s Gate. “Is it necessary that she should come
quite at present?” asked Lady Tringle.
“I thought it was all settled,” said Sir Thomas, angrily. This
had been said in the privacy of his own dressing-room, but
downstairs at the breakfast-table, in the presence of Gertrude
and Lucy, he returned to the subject. Tom, who did not live in
the house, was not there. “I suppose we might as well have
Ayala now,” he said, addressing himself chiefly to Lucy. “Do
you go and manage it with her.” There was not a word more
said. Sir Thomas did not always have his own way in his fam-
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ANTHONY TROLLOPE
ily. What man was ever happy enough to do that? But he was
seldom directly contradicted. Lady Tringle when the order was
given pursed up her lips, and he, had he been observant, might
have known that she did not intend to have Ayala if she could
help it. But he was not observant,—except as to millions.
When Sir Thomas was gone, Lady Tringle discussed
the matter with Lucy. “Of course, my dear,” she said, “if we
could make dear Ayala happy—”
“I don’t think she will come, Aunt Emmeline.”
“Not come!” This was not said at all in a voice of anger, but
simply as eliciting some further expression of opinion.
“She’s afraid of—Tom.” Lucy had never hitherto expressed
a positive opinion on that matter at Queen’s Gate. When Augusta had spoken of Ayala as having run after Tom, Lucy had
been indignant, and had declared that the running had been
all on the other side. In a side way she had hinted that Ayala, at
any rate at present, was far from favourable to Tom’s suit. But
she had never yet spoken out her mind at Queen’s Gate as
Ayala had spoken it to her.
“Afraid of him?” said Aunt Emmeline.
“I mean that she is not a bit in love with him, and when
a girl is like that I suppose she is—is afraid of a man, if everybody else wants her to marry him.”
“Why should everybody want her to marry Tom?” asked
Lady Tringle, indignantly. “I am sure I don’t want her.”
“I suppose it is Uncle Tom, and Aunt Dosett, and Uncle Reginald,” said poor Lucy, finding that she had made
a mistake.
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